


the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb

by marikishtarisgay (Random13245)



Series: if you put a razor in your mouth, you will spit blood [1]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Baby Werewolves, Blood and Violence, Fratricide, Gun Violence, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Gore, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Mai Kujaku, Slow Build, Some really heavy themes my dudes, Threats of Violence, War, Werewolves, give it some time, not enough time for romance just yet, there's a lot of plot going on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 18:16:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8024053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random13245/pseuds/marikishtarisgay
Summary: >often misinterpreted as "blood is thicker than water," to say family ties are stronger than other ties, when the real saying means the exact opposite. The ties you chose are stronger than the ones forced upon you.Marik; bloodthirsty, lustful. Cursed, damned, and angry. Looking for anyone or anything to leech off of. Sees a rather cute looking human man sat at the bar, and sets his sights on him.Bakura; just wants to blow off some steam at a shady bar. Can't help but notice the rather handsome, tan, blonde stranger who slides into the barstool next to him. Winds up in a situation much bigger than he had anticipated.   [Completed 11/13/16]





	1. the bar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The sleazy bar he'd chosen smelled of alcohol and cigarettes... he preferred this bar as opposed to a cleaner, nicer one. He liked the crowd it attracted... The disenfranchised and him went together like jelly on toast. Probably because he himself fell into the category of 'disenfranchised.'"

The sleazy bar he'd chosen smelled of alcohol and cigarettes. The law against smoking indoors was bent more than the legal drinking age was here. It's why he preferred this bar as opposed to a cleaner, nicer one. He liked the crowd it attracted; drug addicts, alcoholics, heavy smokers. The disenfranchised and him went together like jelly on toast. Probably because he himself fell into the category of 'disenfranchised.' For very different reasons than the people around him, but nonetheless.

It also helped that no one paid too much attention to the other patrons at the bar. He could easily sweep some attractive customer away without anyone else expressing concern. This wasn't the type of bar you'd go to with a friend, though out of all the bars he'd been too, this one was the one where you'd need it the most. It was all too easy to pick a victim, and he had so many to chose from.

From his perspective, he could see most of the tables and all of the bar seats. Out of the corner of his eye, a flash of white caught his attention. He turned to see what or whom that flicker had come from. A man, looking to be about the same age as himself- or rather, the same age he _had_ been, before he had died- with shockingly white hair, a sharp, pronounced jawline, and a slim pale frame. He was the perfect target.

He snaked his way from where he was sat at an empty table- he no longer got anything out of drinking alcohol, and the bartender had stopped asking- to the barstool next to his chosen victim. To avoid looking out of place, he flagged down the bartender and ordered a quick drink. Even though the alcohol burned as it slithered down his throat, he knew it would have no effect on his senses, the way it would any normal, living person. Except, he wasn't normal nor living.

The white-haired man seemed to notice the stranger who had just occupied the once empty stool to his right. However, the white-haired man didn't say anything to the stranger. The less spoken, the better, the stranger decided. At the very least, he had grabbed the other man's attention. That was half the battle. The other half was seducing him without allowing him to notice how cold the stranger's skin was; cold as a corpse, which, by all definitions, he was. Nor could the stranger allow him to notice the slight glow within his eyes. There were a lot of very small details about the stranger that would set him apart from a normal man. Which made sense, seeing as the stranger was not a normal man.

The white-haired man and the stranger locked eyes, seeming to see in each other's eyes what the stranger had already decided; they would be going home together tonight. However, the white-haired man looked away again and held a façade of boredom. The stranger was growing frustrated. He'd never felt so offended at someone being able to resist his charms. Never had he picked a target so stubborn. Of course, they all try to avoid his gaze, intimidating and alluring as it was, but none survived two full glances without falling into his carefully planned trap. The stranger begins to wonder why he doesn't just simply pick another target, but that would mean admitting defeat to this stubborn man, which he would not do. He was determined to win this tug-of-war they had going on.

The stranger had long since abandoned drinking; all it did was burn his throat and leave a bad taste in his mouth, it gave no buzz. He was beginning to look out of place there, sitting at the bar, but not drinking. The white-haired man chanced another look at the bizarre stranger sat next to him. This time, the stranger could see he'd finally captivated his target.

"Hello." The predator finally met his prey.

The prey scoffs, "Hello."

"I'm sure you did not come to a bar like this for small talk, no?" The predator smiled, and for the briefest of moments, he allowed his sharp fangs to show.

"I didn't come to leave alone." The prey's eyes gave away that he was drawn to the predator.

"Good."

:.:.:.:

The predator crashed onto the prey's bed, the roles looking to have reversed, with the prey taking the lead and connecting their lips. There was no affection in the kiss, and the predator could only hope the prey did not notice how cold his lips are. The prey moved himself to straddle the predator, pushing him into the bed below. The predator, although not opposed to this role reversal, decided that this wouldn't do, and quickly used his body as leverage to flip the positions. The prey seemed shocked, but did not have much time to dwell on this before the predator began removing the prey's clothing. The last layer of defense.

As it went, the predator ran one tan hand up the incredibly pale torso of his prey. The prey shivered unconsciously, but after a moment began to rid the predator of his sheep's clothing. Before the prey could quite finish with the buttons of the predator's jeans, the predator grew impatient and began kissing and biting down the prey's neck and collarbone. The prey was effectively distracted by this, and moaned softly at the new contact. The predator unsheathed his deadly fangs where the prey could not see, as he was writhing underneath the predator. He grazed one sharp tooth across the prey's collarbone, drawing a sharp gasp from the prey's kiss-bruised lips, before positioning himself right up to his neck. He was just about to sink in and reap the spoils of war, but something stopped him.

Instead, he retracted his fangs and continued to rid both himself and his prey from their clothing. The prey wrapped one warm, pale hand around the now exposed erection of the predator and stroked. The predator gasped, and then moaned loudly, encouraging the prey. It would have been nice, the predator realizes, to have a name to moan. But if he asks the prey's identity, the prey would expect him to return the information.

So, he shelved the question and focused on the warm, human body beneath him. He brought his face away from the neck of his prey, and instead connected their lips again, once more in an affectionless embrace. He rutted his hips against the prey's body, both of them groaning at the glorious friction. The predator felt warmth- a sense he hadn't felt in such a very long time- spread underneath his skin anywhere the prey was touching him.

The prey retracted one hand from the tangled mess and reached for the bedside table, pulling out a condom and what looked to be lube. He brought his mouth close to the predator's ear before speaking in a deep, sultry tone.

"Fuck me."


	2. the bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Waking up in a stranger's bed was not unfamiliar... Usually he awoke to last night's target blissfully not breathing... But, as he was forced to remember, he hadn't taken the liquid life from this particular target... He slowly came to the realization that he had no idea what to do. He'd never woken up next to anything more than a corpse as dead as himself."

Waking up in a stranger's bed was not unfamiliar, but it never became any less jarring. Especially considering the owner of said bed wasn't dead. Usually he awoke to last night's target blissfully not breathing. They all die the same way; blood loss. Or, as he preferred to call it, 'blood transfusion.' As the blood was not lost, simply no longer pumping through the veins of his target. But, as he was forced to remember, he hadn't taken the liquid life from this particular target. He could hear last night's targets even breathing. He could feel the target's contagious warmth radiating all around him. He slowly came to the realization that he had no idea what to do. He'd never woken up next to anything more than a corpse as dead as himself.

The not-so-dead body next to him stirred, causing a jolt of panic to course through him. For a moment, he believed that his target might just be moving around in his sleep, but to no avail. The target awoke, slowly opening his eyes.

"Ah, shit." The target sighed, rubbing his face with his hand. "I didn't even get your name, did I?"

"We were rather intoxicated."

The target snorted. "I'm Bakura."

 _Shit. Shit, fuck, fuck..._ He attempted to rifle through his numerous aliases and give a fake name, but his mouth got ahead of him, "Marik." That was his second mistake amid this hook-up. The first was allowing this _Bakura_ to live. "I should get going." Bakura made no protest as Marik picked up his clothing off the floor and got dressed. Without another word exchanged between the two of them- not for a lack of Bakura seemingly trying- Marik found his way out of the unfamiliar home.

:.:.:.:

"The fuck do you mean, you told someone your name? Didn't you kill them anyway?" The slightly taller version of himself spoke loudly, possibly hoping that if he shouted it loud enough, it would be true.

"Ah..." Marik sighed. "No..."

"Fucking hell."

"Melvin, listen-"

"No. This is your mess, don't get me involved. You better fix this." Melvin said, waving a hand, dismissing his brother. Marik sighed defeatedly. He could not convince his brother to change his mind once it was made. Problem was, he didn't know _how_ to solve this. He'd probably never see that Bakura ever again, thusly he would never get a chance to clean up the mess he'd made. His senses were dulled from hunger, since he hadn't eaten last night. He figured the best shot he had at even beginning to fix this would be to first eat. He could not think properly, and he decided to blame it hunger, and naught else.

He found himself back at that same seedy bar, sat at the same empty table, watching the same types of people. This bar didn't seem to be the one to have 'regulars' but it certainly had a 'type.' A girl, who seemed rather drunk, somehow found her way into the chair across from Marik. She made a drunken attempt to flirt with him, to which he played along. He noticed, absently, that she had a few track marks scarring on her arms. This combined with her clear intoxication only served to further his endeavor to play along. Eventually, he trailed her away from the bar while she gripped his arm. In the alleyway near to the bar, which was just as sketchy as the bar itself, he took one marked arm and viscously bit down. He heard a gasp, but only in the back of his mind did it register as his senses were overflowed with the welcome taste of blood. There were so many layers of flavor to blood, a level of complexity he could not have comprehended prior to dying. There was the sort of base flavor; the metallic pang of iron. But everyone seemed to have their own... essence. This girl tasted of traces of some unknown drug- presumably the cause of her track marks- but also a hidden touch of sweetness. Eventually, as her blood drained, all he could taste was the unpleasant dry air now filling her veins.

He pulled his teeth from her arm, allowing her body to slump down into the alleyway. If this girl had anyone looking out for her, they would see the bite mark and presume them to be track marks, made to match the others. Most likely, as it usually was with her type, the people who cared for her would assume her drug use was her downfall. If there was anyone with medical experience who got ahold of her body, more questions would arise, but the only DNA evidence they would be able to recover would be that of a man long dead. He moved like a serpent, glissading across the alley and back into the bar. He wasn't sure what had compelled him to go back; he needn't another victim to feed off of.

He sat at the bar this time and flagged down the bartender. Even the bartender seemed to be just as bedraggled as the customers they served. As he idly sipped on the burning liquid, he found himself looking around the place. He wasn't sure what he was looking for exactly, though. Amidst his distraction, he did not notice when a person seemed to appear in the barstool next to him. When he turned back to face the bar, he saw this person next to him. He looked over to face this person, who was facing him as well, and smirking.

"Hello, Marik."

"Ah, so you remember my name." Marik answered, partially joking, but also dreading the fact that someone knew his name.

"How could I forget?" Bakura's eyes sparkled in the dim lighting, "You have a very... distinct look."

"Should I feel insulted?"

He laughed before saying, "No, but how many tan, blonde, purple-eyed people are there in the world?" As soon as Bakura mentioned his eyes, Marik looked away quickly. His eyes could easily be a dead giveaway that he's not entirely human. At first glance, they seemed to only be a light lavender color, but if you looked too closely you could see that color was made so prominent by a luminosity.

"Suppose you have a point there." Marik chuckled, trying to act causal. It was bad enough that he'd given away his real name. If he slipped up and revealed more about himself and his kind. There were laws about what happened to people of his kind who let the secret slip. He knew he had to kill Bakura. Even just knowing his true name was too much. If Marik didn't fix this soon enough, the Pharaoh would have more than a little bit to say about that. "And here I was thinking I wouldn't ever see you again." Bakura didn't respond, instead just laughed and brought his drink up to sip.

"How come you're hanging out at a bar like this, but not drinking?" Bakura asked, furrowing his brows and smirking.

"Would you believe me if I said I like the atmosphere?" It was the truth, no matter how unbelievable it was.

Bakura laughed louder this time, throwing his head back, "Fuck no. No one comes to a place like this for the 'atmosphere,' Marik." He accented the word _atmosphere_ with finger quotes. "Unless you can honestly say you like the smell of cigarettes and bad life decisions." It was Marik's turn to laugh this time. He hadn't realized how charming Bakura was.

"Only the finest of bad life choices, Bakura."

"Oh, of course."

Some part of him still held to the knowledge that he couldn't let Bakura live, but he got lost in enjoying his company. They bantered for a little bit, but eventually Bakura had drunk enough that he couldn't hold a coherent conversation. At the end of the night, Marik found himself more or less babysitting the drunken fool hanging onto him.


	3. the bar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "They worked out _because_ they didn't ask too many questions about each other's lives... And it was good that they weren't more than that... The elders would tell stories of someone of their kind loving a human. The human's name was Adelaide and the other was Meria. Meria was always a troublemaker in the community... and she was fascinated by human culture... She was allowed some freedom to roam... The elders would say that Adelaide was the loveliest human to ever exist. Meria fell for her... Meria lived out the ideal life with Adelaide... But Adelaide was mortal... She died, whereas Meria was already dead..."

Waking up in Bakura's bed was almost starting to feel to be familiar. What was this, the ninth time within the last two months they'd known each other? Tenth? He'd lost track. He rolled over to face Bakura, who was still asleep. His crazy mass of white hair was splayed across the pillow, cascading around his face. He looked almost angelic. Marik felt the urge to reach out and run a hand through the fluffy locks. He'd felt Bakura's hair plenty of times, but never just for the sake of feeling it. Unconsciously, his hand has found its way into one spiked out tress of white hair. His hair was softer than it looked, considering it was always styled to look almost like razor blades. Upon touch, however, the tresses fell into cottony strands. Suddenly, he realized what he was doing and retracted his hand. The gesture was too tender for what they were. They weren't dating. Bakura knew next to nothing about him, and vice versa. They worked out _because_ they didn't ask too many questions about each other's lives. That was all they were, Marik reminded himself.

And it was good that they weren't more than that. His kind were no strangers to affairs such as these with humans, but no one of his people had ever dared to become more with a human. Very few of them formed any sort of romantic relationship, but those who did, did so with another immortal. The elders would tell stories of someone of their kind loving a human. The human's name was Adelaide and the other was Meria. Meria was always a troublemaker in the community, as those raised from birth to become one of them so often were, and she was fascinated by human culture. She was twenty-two when she underwent the initiation to truly become a part of their community, and up until then, she'd lived as a human among them. An ant among spiders. She had the natural inclination to want to understand humanity, seeing how she'd grown up differently than most humans. About a year after her turning, she was allowed some freedom to roam outside of their lands. Of course, she found trouble, as she always did.

Trouble came in the form of a beautiful human. The elders would say that Adelaide was the loveliest human to ever exist. Meria fell for her almost instantly. She was the first of their kind to fall for a human, and thusly faced many obstacles in getting the council and elders to allow it, but eventually, they gave in. Meria lived out the ideal life with Adelaide. Some of the elders would proclaim that Meria glowed with joy everywhere she went since meeting Adelaide. But Adelaide was mortal. She aged while Meria did not. She died, whereas Meria was already dead. It is said that Meria held onto Adelaide until her dying breaths, and wept over her corpse. The loss spiraled her into a depression, which ultimately led to Meria's final death.

It was meant to be a cautionary tale, told to all of the young initiates. However, when Marik had first heard it, a few hundred years ago, he'd thought it was beautiful. He'd understood that the elders were trying to tell them not to fall for humans because of their mortality, but that mortality is was made it so beautiful to Marik. He hadn't been raised within the community as Meria had. He'd lived a normal, human life prior to being initiated. Mortality, to him, was a part of life, and being immortal seemed to wrong the nature of the world. Yes, Adelaide had died, but not before living happily with Meria. Life wasn't meant to go on forever, no matter how happy. Lost in thought, he'd hardly noticed when Bakura started to stir.

"Mm, morning." He mumbled in his half-asleep state.

"Morning." Marik responded in a significantly more awake voice.

"I don't understand how you're such an early riser..." Bakura smashed his face into the pillow underneath him and sighed. It was only about nine o'clock, but he wasn't a morning person.

"Just am, I guess." Truth be told, Marik hardly slept ever. He didn't really need to. Occasionally, he'd find himself dozing off, but he hadn't actually fallen asleep since dying. He usually would pretend to sleep until Bakura was actually asleep, lest he notice how Marik doesn't need sleep. While Bakura's face was still pressed into the pillow, Marik's hand acted of its own volition again, and stroked his hair.

"Didn't take you the morning-after cuddler type." Bakura mocked, bringing his face up from the pillow to face Marik.

"Didn't take you for someone who cares enough about their hair to use conditioner."

"Fuck you."

"Mm, but you already did." Marik said smugly. Bakura flung a pillow into his face.

:.:.:.:

"Where the hell do you keep disappearing to?" Melvin said in an accusatory tone. For the past two months or so, Marik had found himself going out to that bar quite a lot. He told himself he just needed someone to feed off of, though most of the time when he went out, he ended up in Bakura's bed. Marik had just returned to their apartment from Bakura's and he was already being grilled.

"Since when do you care where I am?" He shot back.

"Since I _know_ you're with that human!" The way his brother said 'human' with such disgust and contempt set something off within Marik.

"One; if you already know, then why ask? Two; you talk as if we were never human!" He was yelling now, though he wasn't aware of it.

"Because you should know better than to be 'involved' with a human. And it doesn't matter what we were, we aren't humans, Marik." Usually, when Melvin was mad, Marik let his fear take over and he would give up his end of the argument. However, right now, he didn't allow that fear to win.

"No, no fuck you." Marik said sharply. "I do 'know better,' I'm not dating a human. And even if I was, who are you to stop me?"

"I'm your older brother." Melvin growled, as he spoke his voice seemed to get lower and angrier.

"That doesn't make you better than me! If anything, you're the one who got abandoned first!" From the moment those words left his mouth, Marik wanted to retract them. The way Melvin's face hardened and his posture stiffed told Marik that he had messed up.

"Fuck off." Melvin said and shoved past his brother and walked towards the door. Marik both heard and felt the door to their cheap-ass apartment slamming, probably breaking a hinge. Wouldn't be the first time, though.


	4. the hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He awoke with an agonizing headache... He slowly became aware of his surroundings; a hard concrete floor, which he was laying on, and matching concrete walls, with dim lighting... His eyes began to adjust to the dark and he could see more of his surroundings."

It didn't take long for Melvin to come back home, it never did. Except this time, his face was split into the most unnerving smile Marik had ever seen. He looked like he was on the verge of breaking into a fit of giggles, but the psychopathic type that set everyone within earshot on edge. In a way too delighted voice, he declared, "Guess you won't be seeing your little boyfriend anymore."

Marik's stomach fell a thousand feet under. "What." At that, Melvin finally burst into his trademark psychotic giggles.

"Well, I figured I'd take matters into my own hands. Matters, of course, being his pretty little porcelain neck." Melvin paused for effect, before continuing, "You know, he thought I was you at first. Didn't take too long for him to realize his mistake, though."

"Melvin, what the _hell_ did you do?" Marik's voice was shrill. He could feel the panic clinging to his vocal chords.

"Well, you said you weren't attached. I decided to grab a bite to eat for dinner." Melvin suppressed more giggles. "I stopped by the Pharaoh's place to... _share_ a meal with him."

 _Fuck. No, no, no..._ Marik's mind was reeling as he tried to process everything happening. He didn't know if Bakura was alive or dead or... Gods forbid, like him. He took off, running out the door to the apartment. Melvin's insane laughter echoed in his ears. He swung his legs over his motorcycle and smacked the kickstand up.

About halfway to his destination, his phone rang loudly from his pocket. He swiped it up to see an anonymous number calling. When he was human, he would have never answered such a call, but right now, he knew he had to.

"Hell-o, Marik, dearie." The Pharaoh's deep, teasing voice rang through the receiver. "I hope you do know where you're going, yes?" His laughter reverberated into Marik's ear.

"Yes, I do." Marik said, mustering all of his confidence behind that statement.

"Well, I'll let you get on with it. Don't get lost." Marik slammed the end call icon. He'd always found the Pharaoh to be an annoying, pretentious prick, and every conversation with him only reinforced that thought. He quickly selected one of his contacts and texted them a quick message. If there was one thing Marik had learned after living several centuries in a population of dishonest beings, it was to always have a back-up plan.

Upon arriving at what he had thought was the Pharaoh's latest hideout, he found an empty building. His phone rang again. Yet again, an anonymous number. Marik growled angrily at his phone, as if it were the phone's fault, before answering.

"Where the fuck are you?" Marik demanded as soon as he accepted the call.

"So demanding, dearie."

"Don't play games with me, Pharaoh."

"Oh, but you were always my favorite toy. Don't worry about where I am, you'll be there so enough." He spoke cryptically.

"What the fu-" Marik's question was cut off by a hand muffling his mouth. He struggled and kicked but was stopped as a gun clicked next to his head.

:.:.:.:

He awoke with an agonizing headache and blood matted in his blonde locks. He slowly became aware of his surroundings; a hard concrete floor, which he was laying on, and matching concrete walls, with dim lighting. As he sat up, his eyes began to adjust to the dark and he could see more of his surroundings. The Pharaoh was standing next to a chair and he was smiling that same face-splitting smile Melvin had. In the chair, tied and taped down, was Bakura. His body was slumped over and he couldn't see Marik.

"So nice of you to join the land of the living again." The Pharaoh mocked. "I was beginning to worry you wouldn't wake up from that bullet to the head..." He laughed manically. He took Bakura's slumped body and sat him up straight. Even so, Bakura's eyes were unfocused. Marik smelled, rather than saw, Bakura's blood. Marik tried to move, but soon found out his legs were bound tightly to the table- turns out it wasn't the floor- he was laying on, and he hands were chained with a tiny bit of slack. He tugged and yanked at the chains, but to no avail. "Don't bother, dearie. You'll only be bruising your wrists doing that, and then you'll never get to be the knight in shining armor. Though..." The Pharaoh lifted Bakura's head to face himself, "Princess Peach might not make it out of this castle."

"Leave him out of this, Pharaoh."

"Oh? And why would I give up such leverage in this feud?"

"Cheap fucking trick. It's not his fight." Marik tugged on his chains angrily.

"Oh, but, dearie, you made it his fight when you got all... invested." The Pharaoh grinned as Bakura let out a soft groan. "Sleeping Beauty seems to be coming back to."

"Marik? What the hell?" Bakura's voice was raspy and slow. Marik cursed under his breath.

"Let. Him. Go, Pharaoh, or so help me, gods, I'll-"

"You'll _what_? " The Pharaoh laughed mockingly. "You're chained to a goddamn table, Marik. Or did you forget?"

"Fuck you."

"Oh, so nasty. Maybe I should punish you for that..." He seemed to think about this for a moment, before his face split into another grin, "Why don't you tell lover boy about what you _really_ are..." Bakura was still a bit out of it, but now he seemed to be paying better attention.

"What the fuck does he mean?" Bakura asked while tugging on his own restraints.

"Go on, Marik. Show him." This time, the Pharaoh was making a demand. Marik felt his body moving against its own will. The Pharaoh was the leader of his people and thusly had certain... powers over them. His mouth opened painfully as he tried to stop it, but he knew he couldn't. Slowly, his razor-sharp teeth slid down out of his gums. Marik didn't dare look at Bakura. He didn't want to see the look on his face; the terror and confusion.

"Cmon, you can't be shocked." The Pharaoh said in an exasperated tone, "I mean, look at his eyes! They glow for fuck's sake. Have you not noticed how cold his body is? That's because he's _dead_." The Pharaoh spoke loudly and harshly. Marik quickly sheathed his weaponized teeth before trying to speak. "Ah, ah, ah," the Pharaoh waved a finger, "it's Bakura's turn to talk. Communication is key, yes?"

Marik finally leveled his eyes to Bakura's as Bakura opened his mouth to speak.


	5. the silver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ""I'd rather be _actually_ dead."
> 
> "That can be arranged."... The Pharaoh flicked open the switchblade... Then the knife was up against his throat. Normally, a knife wouldn't scare him, but this wasn't a regular knife and he knew as soon as it touched his skin. It burned his skin just on impact, no cut made yet.
> 
> Silver."

Bakura closed his mouth, then opened it again, clearly unsure of what to say. "You're... a..." He swallowed, "vampire?" He looked as though he had meant to say more, but that was all that came out.

"Do not be foolish, child." The Pharaoh scoffed. "Yes, by your people's definition, we are. But what is truth for your people is not the same for ours. What's more important..." The Pharaoh paced towards Marik as he spoke, "is that he," he put two fingers underneath Marik's chin and lifted his face a bit, "lied." The Pharaoh turned his attention back to Bakura's shocked face, "Not only that!" The Pharaoh started to cackle, "He went and got attached to a _mortal_. A human. A _pawn_. He brought you," he pointed at Bakura mockingly, "into a centuries old feud."

"I swear to all the gods, Pharaoh if you lay one hand on him-" Marik threatened, though he was disadvantaged in this fight, since he was still chained down.

"You can't do anything to me." The Pharaoh growled. "As for your little human..." He walked in a wide, predatory circle around the chair Bakura was tied to. It reminded Marik of the way birds of prey fly in circles above fresh food. "I feel it's time he learned a few things. Remember that darling brother of yours?" The way Bakura's jaw set answered the question.

"Wouldn't you like to know that your boyfriend here was partially responsible for your brother disappearing?" _What?_ Marik started digging in his memories. He'd killed more people than he'd care to admit. "He was a cute little thing, wasn't he?" The Pharaoh mused. "Really, it's just a shame his," he pointed accusingly at Marik, "older brother took a liking to this... Oh, what was his name again?" At this point, all three of them knew the answer to his question, but no one spoke as the Pharaoh pretended to think. "Ah! Ryou, that's it. As I was saying, it's a shame Melvin took a liking to this Ryou. Also, it's a shame that Melvin's brother was more than happy to assist his brother in entrapping this Ryou."

At this point, Marik's face was angled at the floor, looking downcast, and he could feel Bakura's eyes burning holes into him. "Terrible, _terrible_ shame that they _turned_ your brother." Hearing it aloud was like the final nail in the coffin of Marik's conscious. It was several years ago, but with how long he was going to live, a few years was more like a few days, but Marik had never thought too much about murdering humans. Melvin had asked him for help, so he helped.

"You're lying." Bakura snarled.

"No he's not." Marik said so quietly he wasn't sure if anyone would hear him.

" _What?!_ "

"I... I don't know where he is now because he took off after he knew..." Marik shifted, suddenly feeling uncomfortable where he was sat.

"He's still alive?"

The Pharaoh laughed, interjecting quickly, "No, no, no. He's very much dead. If you mean is he still alive in the same way Marik and I are, then yes. And I know where he is." The Pharaoh laughed to himself, "It's too bad neither of you are making it out of here." He spun a switchblade in his hand and let the long sharp knife slide out. "Who wants to go first? No volunteers? Oh, I guess I'll just have to pick one..." The Pharaoh said in a mock-teacher voice. He brought the knife up against Bakura's cheek and pressed until a thin line of blood opened up. It was clear that Bakura was in pain, but he refused to make any noise to indicate so.

"Now, Marik, why don't you tell the class about your ridiculous feud with me?" The Pharaoh held the knife to Bakura's jawline, now, but hadn't yet pressed it in.

"Fuck off."

"Oops! Wrong answer," the knife cut deeply into Bakura's jaw, causing a red waterfall down his neck. Marik could feel his somewhat animalistic instincts kicking in at the smell of blood. "Wanna try again?"

"It's your fault I'm... like this, and you know it."

"How so? If memory serves me right, I didn't sire you. Though, being as old as I am, you do tend to forget things..."

"You asshole. You remember." Marik was finally starting to make some headway on unlatching his chains. "I was only twenty, living on the streets with my brother."

"Oh, yes..." The Pharaoh looked off, pulling the memory back up, "I helped you, though. Do you not live in a cozy apartment now?"

"We're _dead_ because of you."

"Medically speaking, sure. But you're immortal now, and you're not living on the street."

"I'd rather be _actually_ dead."

"That can be arranged." The Pharaoh slithered over to where Marik was trapped. In a single instant, the Pharaoh flicked open the switchblade while Marik also managed to free himself from his restraints. He lunged from his position and attacked the Pharaoh. For split second, it looked that Marik might have had the advantage, but then the knife was up against his throat. Normally, a knife wouldn't scare him, but this wasn't a regular knife and he knew as soon as it touched his skin. It burned his skin just on impact, no cut made yet.

Silver.

The Pharaoh was holding a silver knife right to Marik's neck. He could die, really permanently die right now.

"Now now, dearie, your not supposed to get up from your seat during class." The Pharaoh looked at him expectantly, as if he wanted a response. But anything he tried to talk, his neck would push just little bit closer to the knife and it would burn, causing a choked sound to make its way out of his mouth.

"Go ahead, Pharaoh." Each word sent a fiery spike of pain all throughout his body, but he managed to choke out at least one last smart-ass comments.


	6. the feud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ""How's he doing?"...
> 
> "Not great." ...He tried to use his voice to make a noise... but nothing came out... He felt something cold press down against the epicenter of his pain.
> 
> "Silver does some real damage..." The softer voice said quietly.
> 
> "No shit." The harsher voice seemed to spit each word."

"C'mon, c'mon..." A desperate voice floated into his consciousness, "Goddammit, wake up." He couldn't understand anything the voice was saying. Everything sounded like a different language. He tried, but couldn't comprehend any of his surroundings. The only thing that registered in his mind was this: he was in excruciating pain.

"How's he doing?" A softer voice floated in, in that same incomprehensible language.

"Not great." The harsher voice responded. Every sound and every bit of imagery he took in seemed to be underwater. Distorted and burbling. He tried to use his voice to make a noise, _any_ noise, but nothing came out. Or maybe it did and it got lost in the waves of distortion around him. He felt something cold press down against the epicenter of his pain.

"Silver does some real damage..." The softer voice said quietly.

"No shit." The harsher voice seemed to spit each word.

"I know you're still mad at me..."

"No shit."

"...but try and see it from my perspective."

"Listen, Ry, we'll have plenty of time talk and psychoanalyze and reconnect or some cheesy bullshit when someone isn't dying."

"Right..."

After a few more attempts, he managed to push out some semblance of sound. He thanked the gods that it didn't contort like all the other sounds. In fact, all of the sounds were slowly settling back into place. "Marik?" _Marik_...wasn't that his name? Who was that saying his name? He tried to respond, but only managed a pained groan. Finally, his eyes opened all the way and he blinked the world back into focus. He thought, for a moment, that he was seeing double. The two people hovering over him looked almost identical, it confused him.

"Wha..." Marik's voice sounded as if it hadn't seen use in years. It was painfully raspy and achy.

"Shit... Thank fuck you're okay." He could now see who it was speaking; Bakura.

"Whah happen..." Marik rasped.

"Long story short, the Pharaoh kinda slit your throat..." The second voice, Marik could see it was Ryou, spoke, "I found where you were- tracked your phone, you're welcome- and... Well, the Pharaoh disappeared. Bakura and I had to patch you up and hope."

"Ack, shit," Marik tasted his own, dead blood in his mouth, "how long've I been out? Where are we?"

"Almost two weeks, and Ryou's place." Bakura was the one who answered that question. He seemed unable to look at Marik. He instead glared at the floor next to couch where Marik was resting. He tried to prop himself up onto his elbows, but was stopped by a sudden increase in the pain all around his body.

"Whoa, there, slow down." Ryou said as he gently placed his hands on Marik's chest and laid him back down. "There's still some traces of silver in your body, you're gonna be bedridden- or rather, couchridden- for a good while."

"Fuck this." Marik groaned. Ryou smiled ruefully and left the room, leaving Bakura alone with him. He didn't want to be restricted for so long, he had to move to stay sane. "I'm gonna go nuts." He declared. Bakura snorted.

"I think I already have." He held his head in one hand. "Fuckin' vampires... What's next? Werewolves?" Marik thought of one of his distant friends who was, by human definition, a werewolf. Bakura seemed to understand the look in his eyes. "Fuck me, what the shit..." At this, Marik felt laughter bubbling up inside of him. It wasn't exactly funny, but Bakura's reaction to this new knowledge of the world seemed comical to someone who'd know about it for a very long time.

"Spoiler alert: the entire world is full of fucked-up creatures, I'm just one of many." Marik said bitterly.

"Yeah, and when were you planning on telling me that?" Bakura said crossly. Marik looked away sheepishly. "Were you ever going to tell me?... Did you know about my brother?"

"No." Marik tried to shake his head, but the pain stopped him. "I mean, I knew Ryou, but... I guess I didn't put two and two together." He tried to look at Bakura, but Bakura kept his eyes decidedly on everything but Marik.

"He said you texted him. As a back up. How could you not have known?" His voice was growing in volume, a slow crescendo of anger.

"I was trying to be smart. Ryou is probably the only one of my contacts who's reliable." Marik could remember sending that back-up text.

_im probably gonna have a showdown with the pharaoh, if i dont text back in four hours, come find me -Marik_

_alright I got u -ry_

"You said you didn't know where he was."

"I didn't." He said plainly.

"What the hell was that with that... Pharaoh? Is that his name?" Bakura looked to him for confirmation, so he nodded. "He mentioned some kind of feud."

"It's a long story..." Marik didn't feel like digging into those memories.

"I think I deserve to know at this point." Marik sighed.

"Well..."

:.:.:.:

_Marik is sitting in the corner of a dark alley. At the time, he does not know that he will come to be very familiar with these sketchy settings. It is winter, and he is very much not dressed for the weather. He curls in towards himself, in a vain attempt to regain some warmth. If he had known that fall would be the last time he'd ever feel warm, he would have savored it more. Even now, he still expects to feel it come spring. He is wrong._

_He wonders where Melvin is, and if he is okay. He wonders if they will ever be 'okay.' He thinks about home, or what was supposed to be home. But their mother is dead, and their father is gone. The streets are slowly becoming his home. He stands, intending to go for a walk to try and shake some feeling into his numb body and mind, but is stopped by someone. He looks at the stranger who's grabbed his arm. He barely gets a glance at this person before all he sees is blackness._

_He wakes up feeling dehydrated and tired. He is greeted by who he assumes is the stranger._ This is it, I've been kidnapped like they always say happens to kids living on the streets, I'm going to die here, _he thinks, and he is sure of it. The stranger gives him a smile that reminds Marik of the Cheshire Cat._

_"So nice of you to join the land of the living again. I was beginning to worry you wouldn't wake up from that little... nibble." The stranger informs him of what he is now, and he remembers feeling angry, though he does not remember what that anger felt like._

:.:.:.:

"The rest is history."


	7. the wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He caught the eye of someone... They were rather nice looking among the ruin of the other patrons... They smirked at him knowingly... When they smiled devilishly, it exposed their teeth. Sharp, razor like. He felt a jolt of surprise, but decided to sit anyway.
> 
> "Well, hello there." They said, their voice silky and suave."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus chapter for Halloween because I couldn't find the motivation to write a Halloween themed one-shot like I normally do for Halloween. So here, have this chapter that's been written and sitting as a draft since September.

Marik was only able to stand three days completely bedridden before he just had to move. Much to Ryou's annoyance, he pushed himself up into a sitting position and slowly rose to his feet. His body ached still, but he was determined to _move_. He only managed a few steps before collapsing, but he considered it progress. While worrying about his physical state, he also had to concern himself with the Pharaoh's going abouts. The feud was still on, and now the Pharaoh knew where to get leverage. He wondered if Melvin was still on the Pharaoh's side. Most likely, the Pharaoh wouldn't tell him about very nearly murdering his younger brother, so he probably still believes the Pharaoh is in the right. Marik felt a pang of hurt ripple through him.

He knew he was the fool; fallen for a mortal. But there was no time to care about Bakura, his mind was running with a million other things, and anytime the thought of him came up, Marik would shove it away. The more he cared, the more danger he was putting Bakura in. And thereby caring _about_ caring to protect Bakura was rather counterintuitive. So he simply chose to ignore it all together. But, the time had to come where he couldn't cover the truth up.

"Do you care about him?" Ryou asked bluntly one day, long after Bakura had gone back to his apartment.

Marik opened his mouth, then closed it, and thought of all the consequences of telling the truth versus lying. "Yes."

"You know that's not good for either of you." He glared harshly.

"Yes."

"You know the tales of our people." He scolded Marik as if he was a child.

"Yes."

"You're disregarding all of that? For a human?"

"Yes."

Ryou nodded, seemingly pleased with the answers. "Good."

"What?" Just a moment earlier, he'd been criticizing Marik for being foolish.

"Well, if you're willing to disregard everything you're taught about this then you must be head-over-heels." Ryou stated like it was obvious. Marik was going to respond, but he couldn't come up with anything to say to that. He sat up as quickly as he possibly could in his condition.

"But that's not of my utmost concern at this moment," Marik reminded him, "the Pharaoh is still out there."

"And if he even gets within a certain radius of you with silver, you'll die." Ryou's voice was hardened.

"First of all, you're exaggerating," Ryou conceded to that, "secondly, what's it matter if I do die?"

"It matters," Ryou locked eyes with him, "because Bakura cares about you, I can see it, and you're no use dead." Ryou's words echoed through his head the rest of the day.

:.:.:.:

His mind was groggy, but he was sure of one thing: he needed a _drink_. He also knew some fresh air would be beneficial. While Ryou was busy, he snuck out of the house, feeling like a rebellious teenager. He staggered across the sidewalks towards the first shithole bar he could find. He didn't know the town that Ryou lived in, and had to do a bit of walk-by research to find the right place.

First thing he did was order the strongest drink the bar had to offer, not bothering to care if it tasted good or not. He threw the drink back, and for once, he relished the burning trail the alcohol left down his throat. The pain made him feel real, alive. But, this was not the drink he truly needed, and he knew it. He glanced around the bar, observing the types of people around him. It wasn't much different from the bars he frequented in the town he knew.

He caught the eye of someone who, from afar, didn't have any particular traits to identify gender. They were rather nice looking among the ruin of the other patrons, with well-kept and voluminous hair and a sharp jawline. They smirked at him knowingly. He slid out of his seat and moved towards them. When they smiled devilishly, it exposed their teeth. Sharp, razor like. He felt a jolt of surprise, but decided to sit anyway.

"Well, hello there." They said, their voice silky and suave.

"Don't get exited, I'm not your next meal." Marik scoffed at the foolishness of this person, to have their fangs out so blatantly.

"Oh, I know. You're... Ishtar, yes?"

"How-"

"When someone goes head to head with the Pharaoh, it tends to spread quickly." They took a slow sip from their drink, "And not only that, but to protect a human?" They spoke condescendingly.

"Who are you." A demand, not a question.

"Don't assume I'm like you, _sanguisuga_." They opened their smile wider, exposing rows of canines.

" _Lykánthropos_." Marik guessed. "But I asked _who_ , not what."

"You can call me Kujaku." The lykánthrope answered. "But who I am is not important, _sanguine_. What is, though, is that out people are at war with each other, and have been for centuries. Naturally, when we heard through the grapevine about your little... vendetta against your own leader, it caught our interest."

"What are you saying, _lykán_?"

"Now, now, patience. I know that is not a trait of your kind. I represent an... elite few of the _lykán_ folks. Unlike you foolish _sanguisugans_ , we don't allow a single leader to rule us all. We took some... pointers from the Americans during their little skirmish with England."

"I don't care for _lykán_ history." Marik snapped.

"So impatient. Since you insist, I will get to the point. We have had an eye on you and your brother for awhile. We're interested in aiding your feud with your vendetta against your leader. We can even offer some protection for your human."

"And why should I trust you?"

" _Lykáns_ are very loyal creatures. Descendants of wolves, it's in our nature to be so. Consider us, if you will, your own personal guard dogs. That is, if you agree. So, what do you say, _sanguine_?" He looked into their eyes, considering the offer.

"You've got a deal."


	8. the war

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It was rather simple, really... Marik would go first, closely followed by Kujaku and several more _lykáns_... they'd send a signal to Ryou, and he would walk above ground... to the base. This way, they essentially would have the Pharaoh flanked."

If nothing else, the _lykánthropes_ were, true to their word. Within a day, Bakura was herded back to Ryou's house and Kujaku joined them. They lived up to the title of 'guard dog.'

Kujaku spread out a map along the coffee table. It was clearly hand-made because it was smudged in some places where mistakes or changes had been marked in. "This a map of the Burrows."

"Burrows?" Bakura asked. Kujaku fixed him with a stare that could kill.

"The underground facilities of the _Lykáns_." They snapped, "Now if you're done asking stupid questions, let's get on with this." They traced a trail along with one, long claw-like nail, "This is the path the leads directly below the Pharaoh's main base," they traced from that point to another, "which leads to this outpost. As soon as you," they pointed at Marik, "are well enough, we'll move out to that outpost and slowly infiltrate. You," they aimed their accusing point at Bakura, "will stay here under the protection of one of my brothers, and you," they shifted their hand to Ryou, "will stay at the outpost until we give you the signal."

"What exactly are you guys going to do once you get in there, though?" This time, Bakura's question didn't seem to bother Kujaku. Rather, they were amused.

"Well, dear mortal, we're gonna fuck some shit up." They smiled wide enough to bear their canines without seeming too threatening.

Later that night, Bakura still had some qualms about the plan, and that was clear to Marik. After Kujaku had taken to the front yard doing some rather puppy-esque things they would never admit to, and Ryou tagged along, Bakura stopped Marik from leaving by grabbing his arm.

"I don't want to just sit on my ass here-"

"You _have_ to." Marik forced his voice not to crack, not now. "Me, Kujaku, Ryou... We're all hard to kill... you're not."

"I..." Bakura started to protest, but it died out. "Shit, I don't want you to leave." He sputtered out the statement. Marik didn't know how to respond, he didn't know how to handle the warmth blossoming in his chest. Instead of struggling for words any longer, he did the easiest thing he could do; he kissed him. It was nothing like any of the other times they'd locked lips; it was chaste and sweet. By all definitions, this was the first time they'd ever really kissed. The warmth in Marik's chest spread all throughout his body; that addictive feeling of being alive. He realized, then, that he didn't want to leave either.

"I have to."

:.:.:.:

When they reached the outpost, they were greeted by who Marik assumed were more of Kujaku's relatives-all lykáns claimed some kind of familial relation to each other.

"Mai!" One of the pups called out happily.

"Heya, scamp," Kujaku ruffled the kid's thick hair, "you been good? Not causing any trouble or trying to start scraps with your cousins?" An older looking _lykán_ stepped forward, snorting.

"Of course she hasn't." He looked at Kujaku fondly, "Just yesterday she tried to rile up with Takara. Welcome back, Mai."

"It's good to be back, Tamotsu." Kujaku side-stepped to give the _lykáns_ a better view of the two newcomers, "This is Marik, the fool in love with the human, and Ryou, the brother of said human. The little pup who ran to Kujaku's side lit up.

"Are you really in love with a human? What is he like? What are humans like?" She came up with questions seemingly faster than her mouth could say them.

"Uh... Well, humans are pretty similar to you, just... They grow old, and die, and can't turn into wolves." Marik hoped he could avoid the other questions. Luckily for him, Kujaku intervened before the little pup could open her mouth again.

"I think it's time you run off to bed, Maria."

"Aw, but _Maaaaaaaaiiii_." She groaned.

"Go on, the adults have to talk." Kujaku shooed the pup. "Now," they turned back towards Marik, Ryou, and Tamotsu, "the plan."

It was rather simple, really. One of the branches of the Burrows stretched right underneath where they'd tracked the Pharaoh's scent to. Marik would go first, closely followed by Kujaku and several more _lykáns_. As soon as they were under the base, they'd send a signal to Ryou, and he would walk above ground with his own band of wolves to the base. This way, they essentially would have the Pharaoh flanked. Before he realized it, he was there, literally under the Pharaoh's nose. The signal had been sent, and Ryou would be there soon.

This was war.

Kujaku was armed not only with their canines, but also with a pistol. The three _lykáns_ with them also carried guns. They'd fashioned bullets out of silver for maximum effectiveness. Marik could feel a light sting just in the presence of so much silver.

 _This_ was war.

Though his heart has long since ceased to beat, he could feel the ghost pain of it beating furiously against his ribcage. Thought his blood no longer pulsed through his veins, he could almost hear the sound of blood pounding in his ears.

This was _war_.

And he was scared. He had to admit that, at least to himself. He'd never tell Kujaku; they'd just make fun of him, though he could tell they were scared too.

 _This was war_.

It was so quiet in the Burrows. Tension fueled the air. And then, everything seemed to explode into sound. The sound of guns firing filled his eardrums along with shouting. Directions. Someone was shouting in Latin. He could see Ryou from the other side of the warehouse-turned-war-zone. He ran, trying to find some kind of cover in the war-zone. He drew his own weapon and leaned over the side of his cover to see what was going on. The sound of guns firing hadn't ceased yet. His ears were ringing. He could see some of the _lykáns_ as well as a few of his own people. He'd never considered that he'd have to kill some of his own kind. He wasn't sure he could do it. The Pharaoh was a being all of his own, but he recognized these people.

There was one person who was almost painful to look at. One person fighting for the other side he knew no matter what it came down to, he couldn't kill them.

His brother.


	9. the brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ""Brother, please," Melvin shifted his gun, clearly ready to aim and fire... He responded in kind by shifting his weapon as well... A loud bang seemed to be last noise to ricochet off the walls of the warehouse. Marik felt a searing pain in his leg... "This is what you've done, brother. To all our people." He heard the _click_ of a new bullet readying itself in the barrel."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are folks. Part two of this series will be up next Sunday.

Kujaku was at his side, gun cocked and ready to shoot. They leaned over the side of their cover and shot a few times before retreating. Marik tried to mimic the action. Except, he couldn't seem to make himself aim at his own people fatally. He'd shoot at their legs, incapacitating them, and hurting like a bitch, but not killing them. It worked as far as he was concerned. Kujaku advanced themself closer to where they assumed the Pharaoh was hiding.

As they advanced, Marik was almost toe-to-toe with his brother. Of course Melvin would place himself right in the line of defense for the Pharaoh. It was only a matter of a few steps before his brother saw him.

"Marik..." Melvin said, his voice a mix of warning and sadness. "You're fighting for the wrong side, brother. Please just..." Melvin sighed, "just stop fighting your family, Marik." His words cut deep- and they were meant to- but Marik had to resist.

"No, Melvin."

"Brother, please," Melvin shifted his gun, clearly ready to aim and fire. Marik didn't think he could say 'no' out loud again, so instead he responded in kind by shifting his weapon as well. He had no intention of shooting his brother, but the message behind the motion was clear. While Marik was unable to follow through with fratricide, Melvin clearly wasn't. A loud bang seemed to be last noise to ricochet off the walls of the warehouse. Marik felt a searing pain in his leg, and he collapsed. He found himself completely at the mercy of his brother. "This is what you've done, brother. To all our people." He heard the _click_ of a new bullet readying itself in the barrel.

He heard the sound of the gunshot, but when he didn't feel any of the resulting pain, he looked up to see Kujaku. They were holding their own gun and had shot Melvin before he could shoot Marik. Part of him felt grateful; the other, mournful. All of him was in pain, though. Undoubtedly, the bullet in his leg was silver, judging by the way it still burned and melted the rotted flesh around it.

"Shit." Kujaku dropped down next to him, examining the wound like a wartime nurse.

"It's fine," Marik said quickly, though it was a lie, "Go. Fight." Kujaku gave him an appraising glance before listening to his demand. Marik dragged himself to some place with cover, and he then turned his attention then to his wound. If he want to keep this leg, he had to get the bullet out _now_. Tendons hung around the bullet, which was cradled in a bed of melting flesh. He took a deep breath and plunged into the wound, pulling the main piece of the bullet out. Of course, though, the bullet had hit bone and shattered, leaving many tiny pieces spread around. He winced as he had to pick around the wound, plucking the burning silver shrapnel from where it was lodged. He wasn't going to be able to remove every piece, he knew, but he managed to get most of it removed.

Tamotsu came to his rescue just a few moments later. "Kujaku sent me to get you. We're done here."

"Did we get the Pharaoh?" Tamotsu did not answer, instead he hoisted Marik up, holding him bridal style. "I can walk if you'd let me." Marik said indignantly.

"Too slow." Tamotsu scoffed as he moved towards the hidden exit back into the Burrows and back to the outpost.

:.:.:.:

"Fucking 'ell. This 'un just can't seem to keep 'imself outta trouble, eh?" A thickly accented _lykán_ said as Tamotsu delivered Marik to the miniature med-bay in the outpost. The _lykán_ was wearing the traditional doctor uniform; white cloak, clean blue gloves. "This is gon' hurt." The doctor warned before practically stabbing into the wound with a scalpel. Marik shouted out a litany of curses in every language he knew. The doctor started a collection of silver shrapnel pieces next to the cot Marik was laying on. Once every burning shard was plucked out of the wound, the doctor then used an antiseptic that seemed, at the moment, to burn more than silver.

"'Ere. Yer done." Marik then tried to get up, but as soon as he put his weight on his legs, he collapsed. The doctor howled with laughter. "Yer more ova fool 'en I thought." He helped Marik back up and propped him against the cot. "Damn _sanguisugas_."

It felt like ages before anything happened after that, but eventually, Ryou and Kujaku returned to the outpost. "You really need to stop getting injured." Was the first thing Ryou said to him.

"Thanks, I'll try." Marik sniped. He was suddenly forced to remember how he'd gotten this injury, and the following events. "My brother..." He mumbled.

"I'm sorry, Marik. It was him or you..." Kujaku put a comforting hand on his shoulder. He shrugged their hand off.

"What about the Pharaoh?" Marik asked, trying to ignore the ache. Kujaku looked away and bounced on one heel nervously.

"He got away." Kujaku mumbled. "By the time we reached his location, he was gone."

"Goddammit." He felt all his grief and pain- both emotional and physical- well up into anger. "Any other casualties? Injuries?"

"Well..." They looked stricken, "Two dead, and so far we've got at least five wounded." More he could blame on Pharaoh. More to fuel the anger burning up inside him.

The Pharaoh got away unscathed, and they lost some people and several more were incapacitated- including himself. And his brother was _dead_. His brother was holding a gun to his head, and he was right there as one of his allies shot and killed his brother. The only remaining family he had had. It was easier, of course, to blame the Pharaoh, and even though his finger didn't pull the trigger, his brother's blood was on the Pharaoh's hands.


End file.
